


no luck, just a few good friends

by Kirta



Category: The Cycle of Arawn/The Cycle of Galand - Edward W Robertson
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Massive spoilers for What Lies Beyond, Missing Scene, Right?, and almost die again in the Exact same way, and was compelled to spill feelings everywhere and it became this, bc they both do that on the regular, blays is appalled not so much at dante almost dying and going back into battle anyway, but hey. now they get a break, hey so first off, it's among the reasons this isn't at all polished, it's that he had the audacity to go and get hurt, yeah so i ran thru What Lies Beyond at the speed of light, yes i am aware it's been out for less than a week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 00:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirta/pseuds/Kirta
Summary: If you haven't read What Lies Beyond yet, probably don't read this! I'm trying very hard to make this obvious.With their most immediate problem taken care of, Blays would like a break, a nap, and a drink. Any order is acceptable.





	no luck, just a few good friends

**Author's Note:**

> so i wanted both slightly more wind-down before the next crisis and also blays pov, so. voila. oh also there are a few lines of dialogue borrowed straight from the book bc they go in the middle of the scene

The Spear of Stars. Also known as the Mola Ras, or the Asdar… something or other. Whatever the White Lich had called it. Blays hadn’t been paying too much attention to that part, being far more interested in the part where he skewered the Lich with the thing. Or, tried to. Repeatedly. 

In any event, Blays was currently using the immensely powerful, maybe-possibly-awake weapon of the gods as a support. He could feel the spear’s desire for carnage still, niggling insistently at the back of his head, but he ignored it. As good as it was at blasting Blighted into tiny little bits, right now it was doing an equally good job keeping Blays on his feet. Dante was still on the ground, sitting against the ice wall Gladdic had conjured during the fight. Blays felt the faintest nudge of movement from the nether, but it quickly fell still. 

“Is it over?” Dante asked. Blays looked down. Dante was bleeding from an ugly wound in his side (again) and didn’t seem to be doing anything about it. A spark of worry flared in Blays’s exhausted mind, and he was mildly impressed he had the energy to be worried about anything at all, after today. He didn’t have quite enough to be moved to act on the worry, though.

“Yeah, it’s done.”

Dante nodded vaguely. His eyes fell shut and his breaths evened out, and it turned out Blays actually did have just enough left in him to be worried and also to do something about it. He nudged Dante with the butt of the spear. “Hey. _ Hey_. Dante. No sleeping while you’re still full of holes. Hey.” But for all his prodding and cajoling and mild insulting, Dante didn’t wake. Blays cursed and sank to the ground beside his friend. He was still breathing, which meant he wasn’t dead _ yet_. Wouldn’t it be funny to _ finally _ destroy the Eiden Rane, just to bleed out in the snow minutes later. For Dante at least; Blays wasn’t really bleeding anymore. After the Lich’s last heavy blows had knocked the spear from his grasp and put him down, everything had gone dark. He’d come back to himself with the nether moving in his head and body in the way that was particular to Dante’s healing. It probably said a lot about their lives that Blays could wake up and immediately tell who was using magic to patch him back up. It was comforting, though, in a way. A wordless reassurance even if the rest of you had been beat to hell and back.

Blays’s thoughts were still wandering when Gladdic hobbled over to them. He looked worse than Blays felt, which, despite Dante’s work, was still pretty bad. Gladdic slumped down across from them.

“So. It is done,” he said hollowly. Blays nodded. He glanced over at Dante again.

“I don’t suppose you have anything left, do you?” he asked Gladdic. “I think our glorious leader here is about to try and die on us.” Gladdic frowned at Dante.

“I do not have much power remaining, but I will do what I can.”

Blays felt like he was watching from a distance as geometrically perfect fragments of ether spiraled to Gladdic’s hand and then into Dante. When it faded, the wound was still clearly there, but Dante was no longer bleeding, which was the ultimate goal. Healing Dante seemed to steal whatever strength Gladdic had left, and they sat in heavy silence. Blays’s gaze fell on Raxa, crumpled where she had fallen across the plaza. Assured that Dante wasn’t going to kick it in the immediate future, Blays groaned and levered himself to his feet with the spear. He could feel Gladdic watching him as he stumbled across the cluttered stone.

Raxa looked bad. The incredible strength of the Lich’s fist and the impact of the ground hadn’t been kind to her. She was still alive, but she wasn’t in good shape. It wasn’t often that Blays wished for more power with the nether, but times like this… Her mad plunge from the sky had given them just the opening they needed to end it. Letting her die broken in the cold seemed poor repayment for that. Blays looked around for Sorrowen, but the nervous monk was nowhere in sight. Gladdic still hadn’t moved and neither had Dante, but footsteps and voices were finally approaching from the far side of the ice wall. 

Blays waved when Nak finally made it into view. He gestured vaguely in the direction of Gladdic and Dante. “It’s over. Dante’s over there, in the right number of pieces.” He nodded down at Raxa. She was still unconscious, which honestly seemed like a mercy. “Got anything to spare for her?”

Nak called for another monk and leaned down to examine Raxa’s face. “I recognize her, I think. Wasn’t she-”

“The one who stole the bone sword and the original _ Cycle_? Yes. Yes she is.”

“I see. And she’s out here in the middle of everything because..?” The other monk arrived and bent over Raxa.

“She was very busy saving everyone’s asses, last I checked.” Blays quirked an almost-grin. “Turns out it was very convenient of her to have stolen the one thing that could hurt the Lich at all at just the right time.”

Nak shook his head. “The gods work in mysterious ways, I suppose.”

“For the most part, they’re just assholes like the rest of us,” Blays said sourly. Nak gave him a look, then laughed.

“I’m sure you have quite a few stories to completely turn our faith on its head. One crisis at a time though, I think. That one gets to wait.” Blays nodded agreeably and Nak left to attend to a different piece of the mess. The monk that was tending Raxa swayed and stood.

“I did what I could. Time will do the rest,” she said, and followed after Nak. 

Raxa still hadn’t stirred. Blays didn’t really intend to, either, not for awhile yet. He collapsed the spear back to its more manageable length, hoping he imagined its vague, discontented grumbling. Blays watched the courtyard. A monk and a soldier collected Dante and carried him into the Citadel. Some time later, they reappeared and took Raxa. They seemed rather confused about her, but they didn’t question it. Gladdic eventually stood and left Blays’s field of vision.

The sun was low when Minn found him. Or, Blays assumed it was based on the dropping air temperature; the sky was still heavily overcast, though the snow at least had eased. Minn looked tired, and three long scratches now ran in parallel down her face, but she seemed whole. She sat next to Blays.

“People are saying you’re quite the hero,” she said with a gentle grin. “Lich-slayer.” Blays smiled and let his head fall against her shoulder.

“Had a bit of help,” he said quietly. He frowned. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Of course not,” Minn said dryly. “Wouldn’t want to detract from your legend.”

“See, you understand. Knew there was a good reason I married you.” Blays yawned, wide.

“And here I thought it had something to do with love.” Minn jabbed him in the side with her elbow and Blays laughed. She examined him in silence for a moment. “How are you?” she asked. 

“Just killed the evil demigod-thing that’s been razing the world for the past six months, so there’s that. I’m not dead. You’re not dead. Dante and Gladdic and Nak aren’t dead. Not really sure about anyone else yet.” He yawned again. “Could probably sleep for the next week, though.” Minn chuckled and stood, dislodging Blays’s head.

“All things considered, I don’t think anyone will blame you for sneaking off to get some sleep. Come on,” she held out a hand to Blays. She actually had to do most of the work to get him up off the ground, and to keep him there afterwards. It was easy enough to ignore while sitting, but as soon as he actually tried to _ do _ anything, Blays realized just how drained he really was. It was almost as bad as the mountain. Blays jerked his mind away from the memory of Mount Arna. Not going there right now. Minn half-carried him up the stairs of the Citadel to the rooms they used when they were in Narashtovik. They were dusty and unused, but they hadn’t been ransacked, which was nice to see. Blays barely had the sense to divest himself of his swords and the spear and his boots before collapsing face-first into the bed. Minn tried to ask him something but he was already gone.

\---

It was mostly dark when he finally woke, earlier than he was expecting and far earlier than he would have liked. Minn was asleep beside him and the room was that particular shade of pre-dawn grey that couldn’t quite be matched by anything else. Even in the Realm- those parts of it that had had a dawn, at least- it just wasn’t quite the same.

Blays slid out of bed, careful not to wake Minn. The spear was still beside the bed. No attacks from avenging angels in the night. He gathered his weapons and left the room.

The Citadel was eerily quiet as he walked the halls. No servants or messengers rushing past, no early wakers or other restless souls wandering. The Dead City indeed. He poked his head into Dante’s room. Dante was unconscious in his bed. Blays left. Outside, the air was cold, and he could see his breath. He wished for a moment for the dragon statue, then decided he’d much rather never go near that temple again. He shivered. There was still something familiar about the horseman on the mountain, but he was no closer to figuring out _ why _ now than he had been on Arna’s slopes.

He finally encountered another person in the courtyard, which was more wrecked than Blays had seen it since the end of the Chainbreakers’ War. Two tired soldiers were moving bodies out of the main avenues of travel, but stopped in their work long enough to talk with Blays. After a few minutes, he moved on. People became less scarce as the sun rose in earnest, and Blays spoke with many of them. Most of them were happy, or else just tired. Some of them looked at him with something far too close to awe. More disturbing was the tale of their losses- Olivander was dead. Merria was in a bad way but still holding on. Somburr was just _ gone_. He asked mostly out of morbid curiosity, but there had been no sign of Sorrowen either. He returned to the Citadel and rooted out a jug of something alcoholic. A pair of young men cornered him and started asking about the battle, but he deflected them awkwardly and retreated to Dante’s room to sit, drink, and think. Not necessarily in that order.

It was upwards of half an hour before Dante woke, jerking upright with a gasp and reaching for his side. 

“I’m alive?” He sounded honestly surprised by the fact. 

"And a good thing.” He jumped when Blays spoke. He seemed pretty out of it in general, probably on account of having just woken up. “The way they're acting, if you hadn't made it, they would have tried to make _ me _High Priest." 

"Was I that close?" 

"Hardly. You've been way deader before." 

"I wasn't really there, then. I was just dreaming," Dante said, mostly to himself. The world was silent enough Blays heard it clearly anyway. Dante looked up at him. "We won, right? That part wasn't a dream?" 

If it was, Blays was going to punch someone as soon as he woke up. "We won. Somehow." Dante fell back with a sigh. Blays took a drink, then passed the jug over at Dante’s insistence.

“I don’t suppose this is the end of our gallivanting about just yet, is it?” Blays said contemplatively, staring out a window.

“We still have Ka and Taim to deal with,” Dante agreed. “Not to mention the more earthly side of politics.” Blays hid a wince at the thought of Somburr. He shook his head sharply.

“Later. Today, I plan on celebrating finishing off Big Glowing Problem Number One before moving on to all the others.”

Dante grinned and passed the jug back. “That sounds like a plan I could get behind.” His face fell. “I should talk to Nak soon, though. There will be work that needs done.” He made no move to get up, though, and Blays returned the jug. “What are you doing in here, anyway?”

Blays considered the question. “Hiding from the adoring crowds. And plotting the most inconvenient way to wake you up.”

“Do we even have enough people in the city to make up a crowd, adoring or otherwise?” There was something in Dante’s voice- kind of sad, kind of angry. Kind of bitter. Blays sighed.

“Mostly I was just waiting for you to wake up. Was hoping it wasn’t going to be one of those out-for-three-days types.”

Dante frowned. “Types of what?”

Blays shrugged. “Types of ‘I just did something awesome so now I have to sleep it off’ things. Not very fun on my end, you know.” He’d gotten used to them by now, but that didn’t mean he _ liked _ it when Dante collapsed and stayed unconscious for days on end.

“Ah. Those. There are types?”

Blays snorted. “Speaking as the one who usually has to drag you out of the way afterwards, yes. There are types.”

“Hm.” There was silence but for the passing of the jug.

“What did you mean by ‘I wasn’t really there’?” Blays asked after awhile. Dante examined the jug.

“The Pastlands,” he said quietly. Blays stilled. “Yesterday, after the Lich stabbed me- the first time- I was definitely there, with the woods and the monk and everything.” He flashed an almost-grin. “I thought Nak was just being dramatic at first, but it really was that close.” Dante looked at Blays. “What happened? Before I woke up?”

_ A whole fucking lot_, was Blays’s immediate thought. He took the jug. “Oh, you know. The usual.”

\---

They knew there was trouble the instant the ether lit the fragmented wall. Blays felt a tug in his gut, a familiar pinprick just under his ribs. He was already running when Gladdic started shouting- through the nether, through the stone, beyond. He came out not far from Dante, on the ground and covered in blood. The Lich still stood over him, glaive extended. Blays’s heart stopped- then jumped back at double speed as the wall behind him exploded outwards. It was a good thing Blays was still in the nether as pieces of stone rained down, any one of them large enough to crush him. The Lich withdrew his glaive and Dante slumped forward bonelessly. The Eiden Rane spun his weapon, the blade dark with blood, as he turned to face the priests and soldiers of Narashtovik now swarming through the three-hundred foot gap in the walls. Gladdic shouted something and the Lich laughed, hollow and ringing. White light filled the air. Blays ran for Dante.

There was a bloody hole the length of his hand in the center of Dante’s chest and a dark puddle spreading beneath him. Blays cursed under his breath as he hit the ground at Dante’s side. He reached out, but he had no idea what to do. He couldn’t even tell if Dante was still breathing. The spear shifted against his arm, hidden up his sleeve. He could open it, have it out with the Lich then and there. The plan was a bust now anyway, unless by some miracle-

Dante took a breath. It sounded wet, and five different flavors of _ not good_, but it was _ there_. Blays choked out a laugh and glanced behind him. The Lich was still occupied with Gladdic and his reinforcements, and there was a clear enough path to the open section of the walls. Blays scooped Dante up, ignoring the blood and the pained, gurgly sound he made, and raced for the walls. He could feel something coming for him from behind, but he tucked Dante closer to him and ran faster. He yelled for Nak as soon as their rally point came into view.

“Set him down,” Nak ordered, rushing up with a dozen other priests on his heels. Blays lowered Dante gently to the ground and found himself unceremoniously shoved aside. He backed away as the nether swarmed around them, thick enough to be visible even to those untrained. Blays watched for a moment, knuckles white on the hilts of his Odo Sein blades. There was nothing he could do here. Either Dante made it or he didn’t, and in the meantime their people were still fighting. He forced himself to take one step away and then another until he was running back through the ruins of the wall. 

The White Lich himself stood well back from the main battle, letting the Blighted tide pound against Narashtovik’s fighters. Blays slipped into the nether, dodging his way into a thick knot of Blighted pressing towards a clump of unguarded priests. He could feel someone, a lesser lich if not _ the _ Lich, reaching to push him out of the shadows and released the nether before they could. His swords snapped out and he spun, cutting down half a dozen Blighted before they even knew he was there. They turned on him, undead eyes glittering. He went to work without mercy. The Lich’s copper-kettle laughter echoed down the street as Blays finished off another bunch of Blighted that had come too close to the nethermancers. He stopped to catch his breath.

“How is the little sorcerer?” the Lich’s voice asked. It came from all around them, enhanced with the ether. “I hope he had the time to regret his betrayal.” Blays’s hands tightened on his swords and he drove forward again. He didn’t make it more than a step before invisible restraints arrested his movement. Gladdic appeared beside him and the bonds vanished. Blays stumbled.

“What do you think you are doing?” Gladdic hissed. Blays glared at him.

“What do you think _ you’re _ doing?”

“Keeping you from doing something disastrously stupid, I suspect,” Gladdic snapped. “You know how much of this relies on you.”

“Yes, well the plan’s rather useless without Dante isn’t it?” Blays said savagely. He looked away from Gladdic. His clothes were soaked with sweat and blood and whatever nastiness the Blighted were filled with. Most of the blood on his front was Dante’s, and it was starting to itch.

From the back of the battle, more soldiers and priests were streaming in. They were shouting something to the battered fighters at the front and they fought with renewed vigor, pushing back the Blighted horde. Gladdic raised an eyebrow at Blays when the news made its way to them. Blays couldn’t stop the relieved grin that split his face. He ignored whatever Gladdic said next entirely and ran once more for the breach in the Pridegate’s walls.

\---

“And I’m pretty sure you were there for the rest of it,” Blays finished. He took another drink from the jug, which was getting worryingly low, and handed it back to Dante. “It’s been almost four whole months since you last looked that messed up, which has to be a record of some sort.”

Dante tipped his head back, thinking. “What was four months ago?”

“Getting you back from the Lich.”

“Right.” Dante’s mouth quirked. “Feels a lot longer ago than that.”

Blays could only nod. He stared out the window at the grey sky. It was snowing again. Dante said something to him but Blays didn’t hear it, lost in too-fresh memory of the day before. He had hoped, maybe even prayed a bit, but he hadn’t truly believed the soldiers until he saw Dante up and talking with his own eyes. He-

A hand closed around his wrist. Blays jerked away from the window.

“Are you alright?” Dante asked quietly. Blays shrugged. He rolled his wrist until he could grab hold of Dante’s.

“I’m fine. You’re the one who almost died twice yesterday.” He could feel Dante’s pulse strong beneath his fingers.

Dante rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, because you came out of that fight without a single scratch on you.” 

“I mean, after you healed me in the middle of it, yeah, I kind of did.” Blays eyed him. “You know, right before you got stabbed _ again_.”

Dante held one hand up in surrender. “Fine, you’re right. But while you were busy getting covered in Blighted-goo, I was having a relaxing swim under a waterfall in the middle of the forest in the Pastlands. Which one of us really got the worse end of that deal?” 

Blays twitched at the mention of the Pastlands. He tried to force a lopsided grin onto his face but he knew before he saw Dante’s quizzical look that it failed miserably. Dante huffed a half-hearted sigh.

“C’mere.” He pulled Blays forward by the wrist and wrapped him in a tight hug. Blays dropped his head to Dante’s shoulder and held on. They stayed locked together for a long time. Blays at first assumed it was largely for his benefit, but when Dante showed no signs of pulling away, he wondered if Dante hadn’t needed it just as badly. 

Dante’s shirt was thin, and through it Blays could feel the ridges of a thick scar in the middle of his back. Even with the immediate attentions of Nak and the other priests, it was nothing short of a miracle or a whim of fate that he had survived. And he’d made it to the Pastlands, which meant that, at least for a moment, he had truly been dead and they had come all too close to losing him. _Nope._ _Not happening_. Blays took an uneven breath and tried to release the rush of panic-anger-grief that came with the thought. He pulled back and Dante let him go with something that seemed like reluctance.

Blays’s hand ghosted over his own chest. His smile was more genuine this time, if small. “I guess we match now.” Dante’s eyes followed Blays’s hand. The briefest moment of confusion crossed his face before it went carefully smooth.

“Corl.” Dante cocked his head. “I wasn’t _ that _ dead.”

Blays scoffed. “You said you were all the way in the Pastlands. There’s a very limited number of ways to get there, and you weren’t using a dreamflower.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t need a mythical wish-granting ball to get back.”

“Only because you got lucky.”

Dante shook his head at Blays and finished the jug. “Where did you find this, anyway? It tastes like cooking wine.”

Blays shrugged. “The kitchens, so it may be. Anyway, if it wasn’t luck, what was it? The gods?” He made sure his tone said exactly what he thought of that option.

“Just very good friends,” Dante said quietly. Blays deflated.

“Yeah, well. Gotta keep them around while you can.” He snagged the empty jug from Dante’s hand and waggled it. “This has not made me feel properly celebratory. I’m going to go find something that’s better at its job.” He stood. “You should probably go talk to Nak,” he threw over his shoulder as he walked away. He could feel Dante watching him the whole way to the door.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe? will do more? refuse to say anything concrete either way lol. i really wish there was just more blays pov in the series in general, but maybe that's just me. idk. have a nice day y'all


End file.
